


Tailor Made

by courtts



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Angst, F/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-03 13:25:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10968147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtts/pseuds/courtts
Summary: Oboro makes the wedding kimono for the bride of her beloved.





	Tailor Made

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry guys, there's no happy ending with this one :(

Oboro's father once told her that his greatest joy as a tailor was designing the garb for the Hoshidan royal's many ceremonies. First with the wedding of King Sumeragi and Queen Mikoto, then with the king's funeral, and finally with the new queen's coronation.

"Every garment must have purpose," he had told her. "The queen was an outsider when she ascended the throne. But she was the one who held power, and it was the robes she donned that made the people believe it." It was in his hands, as a tailor, to make sure she was respected the way she should be, and would be in Oboro's hands to do the same in the future. He looked forward to the day she received the same letter in the mail because he would know he taught her well.

For Oboro, however, the notice doesn't come in the form of a letter.

It comes as a knock on the door in the middle of the day.

When Oboro opens the door, she takes a step back in surprise. She isn't expecting any visitors. She has no consultations for prospective clients scheduled today, nor does she have any appointments she needs to accompany her liege to.

Takumi is at her doorstep anyway, hand in hand with his fiancée’s.

Oboro invites them inside, and suddenly her humble quarters feel even smaller. Now that the war is over, the difference between royal and retainer is even more apparent. Takumi and Lady Corrin are dressed in robes made of the finest fabric instead of bloodied and tattered armor. Oboro is wearing the same faded yellow garb as she did on the battlefield.

She shouldn't feel this way. They've been through thick and thin together, through an attack on Hoshido and an invasion on Nohr. She's had heart-to-hearts with Lady Corrin in the middle of the night about missing family members who are no longer around. She's stayed by Lord Takumi's side ever since she learned how to wield a naginata and will continue to do so for as long as she lives. They and the rest of their army are the closest thing she has to family.

Then she looks to the ring of betrothal on Lady Corrin's left hand and is reminded that she is close to them, but not close enough.

After a few minutes of small talk, Lady Corrin brings up the golden proposal her father has made her anticipate for her entire life.

"Felicia and Jakob insisted on making my robes for the ceremony--" Lady Corrin laughs, "--actually they practically begged me to. But with your parents and all... I know it would mean the world to you." She looks Oboro in the eye and gives her the most genuine of smiles. "I can't think of a better person to do the job."

"Plus, it'd be a great opportunity for you," Takumi adds. "Haven't you wanted to get your tailoring business off the ground for some time now?"

As Lady Corrin continues her spiel, Oboro can already see the kimono coming together in her mind. She thinks of the shade of fabric she should use, the color of the trim at the bottom, the pattern of flowers, and how well they will fit the bride-to-be. She's confident she can do it justice.

"So, what do you say?" Lady Corrin asks.

"It..." Oboro begins, but hesitates.

Her first instinct is to say no, and she has no idea why. She should be overjoyed by the opportunity. Her father told her she would be overjoyed by the opportunity, and now that she's had time to let it sink in, she knows she is. She shakes away the feeling and finishes her thought.

"It would be an honor."

 

* * *

 

The wedding is in two months. Oboro promises she can get it out in one if she works swiftly and with their full cooperation.

When Lady Corrin tells her to take her time, she tells them nonsense because it has to be absolutely perfect. It's almost a contradiction, but she has always worked best under pressure. They can't take any chances with mishaps.

After the logistics are finalized, Oboro invites Lady Corrin to her quarters once again to get an idea of what she'd like. From the moment her client enters, Oboro becomes a whirlwind. She brings out dozens of samples of fabrics, explaining the beauty of each of them. She takes measurement after measurement in a flurry, ignoring Lady Corrin's yelps of surprise with every change of clothes. She scribbles idea after idea into her notebook as Lady Corrin lists the most unrelated facts about herself at Oboro's request: her favorite (and least favorite) desserts, her favorite way to relax after a long day, the most memorable event from her childhood.

To an outsider, the information seems pointless. But it allows Oboro to let her client stay as a person, not a role, in the garb they wear. It's the one philosophy she disagrees with her late parents on.

As the two flesh out their ideas into something tangible, Oboro finds that Lady Corrin's idea of the perfect kimono matches her own. She prides herself on being able to read what her client has in mind.

"I'm glad we see eye-to-eye on this, Lady Corrin," Oboro says with a giggle. "It won't just look fabulous. It'll be completely yours."

"I'm glad, too," Lady Corrin says. "Honestly, I'm surprised we thought of something so quickly. It's amazing! It's one of the reasons why I wanted you to make this in the first place."

Then her eyes trail off and Oboro feels a pit forming in her stomach. "There's... there's just one thing."

"L-Lady Corrin?" Oboro asks, "Did I say something wrong?" She convinces herself that her voice isn't shaking.

"W-what? Of course not!" Lady Corrin says. "It's just..." She pauses, "Don't just think of me; think of Takumi, too. As much as I love what we've thought of, I want him to love it just as much, if not more."

Oboro's hand forms into a fist and the pit in her stomach deepens upon realizing so. She remembers her father's words about her responsibility as a tailor. She thinks about Lady Corrin's role in this ceremony: not just her own person, but one half of a whole. Although Lady Corrin is her own person, there's another person who's just as part of the process as she is.

"You know him better than anyone else," Corrin says. "I know I can count on you, Oboro."

"Don't worry Lady Corrin," Oboro says. She clenches her fist one last time, takes a deep breath, and smiles. "I will."

 

* * *

 

After her nightly shift patrolling the castle has concluded, Oboro retreats to her workshop at the far edge of the castle, rolls of fabric and spools of thread in hand.

The space in the castle, once a storage room for unused books and other trinkets, was set aside for her by Lady Corrin. It's smaller than her quarters, where she normally works, but having her own space makes her feel like a dedicated tailor. It almost reminds her of her parents' old shop in the heart of Hoshido, now boarded up and deserted.

Oboro wastes no time in making the room into a workshop she can call her own. She hauls down rolls of fabric in all sorts of colors and patterns down the castle in the morning. Hinata helps with the heavy lifting, namely her workbench and sewing machine, during the short lulls the two retainers are offered in the middle of the day. At night, when her duties in patrolling the castle have concluded, Lord Takumi offers a hand in bringing over the last of her tools to the far edge of the castle, stubbornly refusing when Oboro tells him to get some rest instead.

"Lord Takumi, really, it's fine!" Oboro says as they descend the seven flights to her workshop, "It's only, what? Three more trips if I go by myself?" She rushes down the stairs at a faster pace, stopping when she reaches the bottom of the next flight. She smiles up at her liege as he walks down. "I'll be done in no time, so please, go to bed."

Takumi furrows his brow. "You took quite the hit during today's sparring practice," he says, and Oboro unconsciously rubs her bruised side at his words. "I insist."

"But you did, too," she counters. Her voice is bubblier than normal, and it echoes through the silent halls. "And besides, I'm your retainer! I'm supposed to be the one aiding you, not the other way around."

Takumi scoffs. "Just because you're my retainer doesn't mean you can't also be my friend," he says. Oboro's heart twists at the word. "So when I say I want to help, I mean it. Really."

The rest of their trip is mostly marked by silence. Oboro feels more at ease with Lord Takumi accompanying her, and she likes to think she doesn't feel as sad with him around. His company can't replace her parents when she wants them, but he's the next best thing. Still, she can't help but feel guilty for eating away at time he could be spending with people who matter more to him.

"You know," she says suddenly, "I like to keep busy during the night. It gives me time to think."

"And where would your thoughts go if you didn't have that second person with you?" he asks. He reaches into the basket in his arms and pulls out a small box. It houses only a few needles, but it's the last memento she has of her late parents. Oboro curses herself for her tendencies to pour her heart out to those she cares about most.

"Probably places they shouldn't," she says.

She turns her head to look at Lord Takumi, and he gives her a look of reassurance. Her cheeks flush, and she thanks the gods that the dim light hides them from view. She tells herself it’s because she was remembering warmer times from her childhood. She wasn’t thinking of anything else.

_Nothing else at all._

 

* * *

 

Oboro works alone. She shuts the door to her workshop behind her, working only in the light of the torch by the window.

She takes Lady Corrin's request to heart. The fabric she chooses is heavy in weight and a deep shade of purple, representative of her Nohrian upbringing. The flowers are silver with gold lining, a sharp contrast to the fabric itself. The sash that ties it all together is berry-red, the same color Takumi makes a point to have designed in his own clothing. The kimono is nontraditional for a Hoshidan wedding, much like her marriage itself will be; it feels right.

She cuts up the fabric, being careful not to make any tears, and stitches it together by hand, making sure every stitch is uniform and at her best. When it's taken the form she had etched in her mind, Oboro holds it up to the light and smiles.

She pictures Lady Corrin in the kimono and how well it'll fit her. She pictures the wedding ceremony with perfectly-timed sakura blossoms floating through the air, and incense overpowering any smell, and all the people--her friends, peers, and even her Nohrian foes--clapping. She pictures Takumi standing next to Lady Corrin, his eyes on nothing but her and the beautiful garb she's in.

And she pictures herself clapping on from the crowd, fighting tears from her eyes, telling herself how happy she is for them.

"Lady Corrin," she says to the open air, "He's going to love it."

 

* * *

 

The most painstaking, time-consuming task is painting the flowers, all by hand.

Every stroke must be precise. She paints each petal one at a time, slowly covering the garment in shades of shimmery silver. When the dye dries, she repeats the process in gold with Hoshido's finest dyes. The flowers appear as mere specks on the kimono from distance, but are more intricate than any work she has ever done in the past when viewed up close. Each petal is uniform in color, each vine has the same curvature, and each leaf has that perfect teardrop shape.

If she closes her eyes, she can feel her father’s hands on hers, guiding their every move. When tears threaten to fall from her eyes, she turns her head and wipes them away before they can stain the freshly-painted dye. She never lets it interrupt her work.

Some nights, she’ll hear a knock at the door. Engrossed in her work, she doesn’t always answer. On the one night she does, Lord Takumi is on the other side with a steaming kettle of her favorite green tea and a single porcelain teacup. He places it at the edge of her workbench and doesn't move until he is acknowledged.

Oboro looks up and Takumi looks like his mind is in places he doesn't want it to be. It's the same expression he wears after emerging from his quarters after a challenging day of battle, when Oboro has listened to him toss and turn while keeping watch while he sleeps.

"L-Lord Takumi? What are you doing here?" she asks.

"It's... it's nothing," he says. His previously somber expression is quickly replaced by a scoff. "And quit giving me that look! I only came down here to give you some..." Takumi grimaces at the words, "...some tea."

"Tea?" Oboro asks.

"Yes, tea," Takumi says more firmly. "Corrin always makes her god-awful butler deliver it to me when I need to stay up late." He clears his throat. "With making arrangements for the ceremony, and all. Figures I should do the same for you."

Oboro's cheeks flush; she pays no heed. "Well thank you, Lord Takumi," she says with a smile. "This should get me through the night."

Sometimes she suspects Takumi knows about her feelings towards him. She also suspects he's choosing to ignore them, and she believes she should do the same.

Oboro sets down her brush and pours herself a cup of tea before Takumi can do it for her. When she takes a sip, she makes a face. The drink is much too bitter, much too strong, and dare she think it, she believes Takumi made it himself.

When she sets the cup down, Takumi has turned to the door. “Don’t stay up too late,” he says. “I need you in top shape when we spar tomorrow.”

Takumi's eyes are soft, his smile is light, and Oboro knows it's an expression reserved for those he truly cares about. Her heart is filled with warmth at the thought, and she tries to suppress it as soon as it emerges. She can’t feel this way. She's just a retainer. He’s practically a married man.

So she puts on her best grin. “Don’t be silly,” she says. _"You_ better be the one prepared, because I'm not holding back."

Takumi cracks a laugh and Oboro thinks that just maybe, things will be okay.

"Good," he says. "I'm holding you to it."

 

* * *

 

When Oboro is finished, the first person she tells isn't Lady Corrin. It's her liege.

She casually brings up the subject after a day of archery practice, as if she were asking him to the Mess Hall for lunch. She tells him there's something she'd like him to see.

When Lord Takumi accepts, she tells herself she made the right choice. She tells herself she wants an objective view of her design. Someone who knows her skills best, someone who's seen her work grow from the very first blouse she made for him to his coronation garb. There's no better choice than her own lord.

She tries not to think about why she asked him to come alone.

Oboro unlocks the door to her workshop, but Takumi doesn't make a sound when he sees what's inside. She holds her breath, gluing her eyes to his figure as he approaches the mannequin in the center of the room. Has she lived up to his expectations? Did she fulfill Lady Corrin's wish?

Takumi removes the kimono from its display and holds it up to the light. He hums as he inspects the kimono up close. He runs his hands along the smooth silk, admiring the silver and gold-speckled flowers along its surface. He brings it to his face, examining every embroidered stitch with the naked eye. Without a doubt, he's comparing it to the ones on his own clothing, the articles Oboro made for him herself.

Oboro should be scrutinizing her work along with him, but her eyes wander elsewhere. Lord Takumi’s posture is tall and confident, as she has come to admire over the years. His hair shines brighter than the kimono ever could. His amber eyes glisten as he imagines the woman who would be wearing it in one short month. He doesn't have a hesitant frown on his face as he usually does. Instead, he wear the slightest of smiles.

Takumi places the kimono back on the mannequin. When he turns to her, he’s smiling with satisfaction, and at this moment, Oboro knows she succeeded in what she set out to do.

"Tell me, Oboro," he asks, "Did you put your heart into this?"

She considers every hour of work that went into her piece. She remembers every filled page in her sketchbook, every idea she has bounced back and forth with Lady Corrin and made her own. She feels the pain of every pricked finger and winces at every sleepless night. She thinks of the person who drove her to continue her work, not just now, but when she was alone and at her lowest.

It was all for him.

Oboro nods with confidence. "I did.”

Takumi smiles. "Then it gets my seal of approval," he says. He pauses, and her heart skips a beat. "You've really grown. I'm proud of you."

“Lord Takumi…”

Oboro know what her reply should be. She should thank him for having so much faith in her skills. She should tease him about how he might have to start charging her for her services from now on. She should all but imply that his words mean the world to her.

The words fall from her mouth before she can catch them.

"If you keep treating me like this, you'll get my hopes up," she says, and her facade shatters.

Their eyes meet. Oboro forces hers shut and turns her head away. She tries not to blink because she's afraid of what might fall if she does.

She hears Takumi step towards her and takes a step back in response. He takes another step, but this time, she stays still. And when he wraps his arms around her, she puts up no resistance.

The hug is warm, reassuring, and entirely too quick. But to Oboro, it feels like an eternity.

"You'll find someone better for you," he whispers as he pulls away. Oboro can't breathe when his arms leave hers. "I'm sorry it couldn't be me."

Oboro feels warm tears stream down her cheeks. This isn’t what was supposed to happen. This isn't what Takumi wanted to happen, and it's what she so desperately tried to prevent.

She lets out a choked sob. When Takumi tries to reach a hand out to her, she pushes him away. She dries her eyes with her own sleeve.

"Don't apologize, Lord Takumi," she says quietly. She blinks past her tears and looks him in the eye. "You did nothing wrong."

They both know her words are the truth.

 

* * *

 

When the night is still, Oboro makes a second trip to her workshop at the edge of the castle. She delicately opens the door, making sure not even the quietest creak can be heard, and locks it behind her.

She flicks on the lantern hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the room in a white light. Scraps of fabric and spools of thread are strewn across the floor. She walks over to her workbench. It's clean; only a pair of scissors and a small box of needles lie on its surface. She looks past it, and the mannequins along the back wall are unfilled and lined in a row, save for one.

Her kimono isn't folded on the floor as she expects to find it. Instead, it is hanging on the single mannequin in the center of the room for any stray wanderers to see. The silver silk shines under the room's light. The embroidered flowers along its length give off a radiant sheen. It still looks as pristine as it did when she stitched the final petal in place.

It begs to be worn.

Oboro gulps. She doesn't want to do this, but at the same time, she can't stop herself.

She sheds her robes, one shoulder at a time, and leaves them in a pool at the foot of the bench. She walks towards it, letting the cold air leave goosebumps on her skin with every step. And when she finally reaches the garment, she removes it from its point of display with shaky hands.

Oboro brings it back to her workbench and drapes it around her, folding it as Lady Corrin's retainers would do on her special day. It fits her as if it were her own, and she can't decide if it's a blessing or act of cruelty. She pushes her weight against the bench, wrapping the kimono's sash around her back and messily tying it in place, since no one will do it for her. She flattens out any stray wrinkles with a quick brush of the hands.

Oboro crosses the room to the mirror in front of the door, and her mouth goes dry when she sees what lies on the other side.

The kimono isn't just more beautiful when it's on a living being. It makes her look like someone to be celebrated, like royalty. It gives life to her features, drawing attention away from her messy hair and ordinary eyes. It overpowers the perpetual grimace on her face. It transforms her into something she's not.

Oboro traces her fingers along the hem of the kimono's sleeve, and imagines what her parents might think if they lived to see it in person, in a ceremony at the royal castle. They would admire her handiwork, commending how far she has come. They would learn its story and praise her for carrying on their legacy. They would feel Lady Corrin's love for Lord Takumi, and Takumi's love for her, and Oboro would be right alongside them with a smile on her face, knowing she did her part to make the bride and groom's day unforgettable.

She takes a deep breath, then billows with pride. It's her greatest masterpiece.

She just wishes it belonged to her.

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I tell myself I'm going to write a short oneshot, it ends up three times the length I intended it to be. This one is no exception...
> 
> [tumblr](http://courttts.tumblr.com/)


End file.
